Sea Stories

Our local community newspaper, the Boerne Star, is pretty typical of a small town paper. It's published twice a week, and ignores state, national, and international stories in favor of local ones. The columnists and commentators are likewise local. They're people from the area who contribute occasional opinion and local color pieces.

One of the regular writers is a guy named Ed Davis. I've never met Ed in person, but I feel I know him through his writings (much like many of the bloggers I've become acquainted with). Ed is a WWII vet, serving on destroyers throughout his Navy career. Since a couple of Navy types occasionally drop by here, I thought they'd get a kick out of a recent column by Ed.

This week I received notice of my ship’s reunion to be held in the fall. I like to go if I can because I always learn some new and interesting facts.

These facts are usually called “sea stories” and while some may have some basis in truth, it is not a strict requirement. Here are a couple of examples.

Mike was a true sailor, a member of the motley crew affectionately known as “deck-apes”, and proud they were of it. Most of them could have spent a little more quality time in the classroom when they were growing up, but they were a lovely group of fellows, nonetheless.

Some of them had a vocabulary that would allow them to communicate in polite society for a limited time, if necessary. Many did not.

Mike could read some writing and write some reading. The censor would attest to this even if he did have to rely heavily upon his scissors while performing this duty for him.

Now I must explain something here to you landlubbers so that the stories to follow will not pass over your heads completely.

When some sailor performed some forbidden act or mouthed some forbidden words it was not unusual to hear the cry, “Take that man’s name.” If the act was not particularly heinous the man would usually end up in a disciplinary proceeding called “Captain’s Mast.”

If my memory has not failed me, it derived from an old practice of bringing the miscreant before the Captain in the vicinity of the mast, at which time the Captain would judge his case.

Now Mike had probably received a letter from his mother. It takes no great stretch of the imagination to conclude this, since Mike’s return letter the censor held in his hand went something like this:

“Dear Mom - You asked if I was going to church every Sunday like I promised. I have not, but it is not my fault. Mom, this ship does not have a priest aboard. Some say it is because destroyer sailors are too wicked for salvation, while others claim we are not a big enough congregation for the Navy to afford one. But do not worry about me, Mom, I have been to Captain’s Mass four times in the last three weeks. Your loving son, Mike.”

I was not the censor, in case you are wondering how I came by these private communications. Let me just say that if the wartime expression “Loose lips sink ships” had applied to the censor, you would not now be reading this.

A sailor passing by the wardroom where the censoring was usually done was never surprised to hear horse-laughing coming from inside, but somewhat bemused, nevertheless, wondering if it might be his own letter which was the source of such merriment.

Perry, another shipmate, was our best lookout. The trouble with Perry was that if somebody gave him an order he thought he was supposed to obey it. I mean, like he continually swept the sky and sea with his binoculars, never resting his eyes or pausing for a quick cup of joe.

I am not sure he even blinked. But like many a man ruined by the perception of what others said about him, he was extremely proud of his work which, while necessary, was the most boring job imaginable, and lonely, too, by himself on the flying bridge.

He did such a good job that everybody else left it to him when he was aloft.

One day a Japanese plane practically fell on our fantail and no one but Perry saw it.

The censor really should have kept his mouth shut. Perry’s work demanded approval, not publication. “Dear Mom,” he wrote, “I know you always wanted me to make something of myself. Promotion does not come easy in the Navy. I cannot tell you any secrets, but I now have a very high position on this ship. Your loving son, Perry”

Brings to mind the old joke about the difference between a fairy tale and a sea story: a fairy tale starts off with "Once upon a time..." and a sea story begins with "Now this ain't no shit..."